


I've Got You

by god_commissioned_me



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompts [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/god_commissioned_me/pseuds/god_commissioned_me
Summary: Martin brushes Jon’s hair out of the way with shaking fingertips. He must’ve hit his head on the corner of the desk on his way down. “Jon,” Martin says through a clenching throat. “Come on, Jon, you need to - you need to wake up.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050869
Comments: 14
Kudos: 245





	I've Got You

**Author's Note:**

> For miraeyeteeth's prompt from my Bad Things Happen bingo card: **Trying to Wake Them Up**
> 
> CW: minor descriptions of an injury, including blood mentions

Martin’s hands are full, so he uses his elbow to flip on the overheads in the bullpen and watches the sudden brightness swallow up the faint lamplight beneath the door to Jon’s office. He sighs. He’s been coming in earlier and earlier these past few weeks, too unsettled to rest at home with the Unknowing hanging over their heads, but no matter what ungodly hour he descends the stairs into the archives, Jon is always in his office. He’s thought about asking Tim if he thinks Jon is leaving the Institute at all anymore, but, well. It’s better not to mention Jon to him if he can avoid it. And at least in the Institute Jon is as safe as he can be. Probably. Martin inhales sharply through his nose. What a bare comfort  _ that  _ thought is. 

He deposits most of his burdens on his desk to sort through later. For now, he intends to take advantage of the early morning quiet to convince Jon to eat one of the bagels he brought in and, if he’s lucky, to have a lie down on the cot in storage before the other assistants arrive. 

He knocks lightly on Jon’s door. “Jon? I have breakfast.”

There’s no answer, but that’s not surprising. Jon’s probably too immersed in his frantic research to have noticed anyone else was in the archives. Martin waits a second more and then pushes the door open. “Hey, Jon,” he starts before he breaks off in a strangled shout. 

Jon is crumpled, face down, in a little heap on the floor, one cheek barely visible through the tangled curtain of his dark hair.

“Christ, Jon,” Martin gasps. The bakery’s takeaway bag falls from his hand as he lurches to kneel beside him. “Shit, shit, shit! Jon, hey, can you hear me?” 

He places a hand on Jon’s shoulder and, after a moment of hesitation, turns him onto his side, pulling him halfway into his lap. His face is slack and pale. Martin brushes Jon’s hair out of the way with shaking fingertips and makes another choked noise at the bruise bursting in shades of midnight down his temple. There’s a streak of half-dried blood across his forehead. For a horrible moment, Martin thinks someone from the Circus has returned and attacked him before he realizes how close Jon had been lying to his desk. He must’ve hit a corner on the way down. 

“Jon,” Martin says through a clenching throat. “Come on, Jon, you need to - you need to wake up. I’ve got you, just… wake up, Jon.”

He doesn’t move. Even the shuddery rise and fall of his narrow chest is almost imperceptible. Martin pulls him further into his arms, cradling him close. He can cup one hand around the back of Jon’s head like it’s nothing. How many times has he ached to hold him like this, to give him shelter? Martin would keep him safe while he slept until every bad thing in the world had passed them by if only he were able.

“Please,” Martin murmurs into Jon's ear. He’s afraid to shake him, so he bends to nuzzle against the uninjured side of his face, bumping him carefully like a cat asking for attention. “Please wake up.”

“Cute.” Tim’s voice is hard and angry. 

Martin flinches, startled, and looks over his shoulder to see Tim standing just outside. He’s scowling. He always is, lately. “Tim,” he says, and he hates how fragile he sounds. “He - he won’t wake up, I think he hit his head, he - ”

“He’ll be fine.” Tim pushes off the doorframe and turns to disappear into the archives.

“Tim,” Martin says. “ _ Don’t _ . He’s hurt. He needs help.” 

“Yeah? He’s not special,” Tim says, but he rolls his eyes and walks into Jon’s office anyway. “It’s his bloody fault anyway, staying up all night, pretending he doesn’t have human needs anymore, fucking off on his own business like he’s the only one who matters around here. Bloody selfish.”

A flare of anger cuts through the creeping fog of panic. “Oh, as if you have room to talk,” Martin snaps. He takes a deep breath. “Look, just - get me some water from the break room. I need to clean this to see how serious it is before I move him.”

Tim leaves without answering. Martin takes another, anchoring breath and resists the urge to stroke Jon’s hair. With every second that passes, the knot of worry in his gut tightens. How long has he been lying here, alone and injured?

Tim returns with a bottled water and one of the break room’s hand towels. “Here. Let me know if you need to call an ambulance.” Then he’s gone again.

Martin closes his eyes briefly against the wave of  _ wrongness  _ Tim’s apathy sends crashing over his head. There’s time to deal with that later. For now, he can’t let anything distract him from helping Jon.

He unscrews the cap on the water bottle. “I’m sorry,” he whispers when the movement jostles Jon’s head. Martin tips some of the cool water onto the towel and uses it to dab at the wound.

Jon groans softly and shifts, twitching as if to turn his head away from the contact before going still again.

“Jon? Are you with me?” Martin asks. He sponges the cut again, more delicately this time. With the blood cleared away he can see it’s a small injury, no bigger than his thumbnail, though the bruising and swelling makes it look larger.

Jon’s eyes flutter but fall shut again. “D-did I fall?”

“Yeah.” Martin tucks Jon’s hair behind his ear. His hand lingers there, cupped tenderly around Jon’s cheek and earlobe. 

Jon tenses. “How far? How far did I fall?” His eyes fly open, wild and unfocused with sudden terror.

“Hey, easy, lie still,” Martin urges. "I've got you." His arm tightens around Jon, both to make sure he doesn’t move too quickly and pass out again and to assure him that he’s on solid ground. That Martin will hold him steady. A memory presents itself to him from the tape of Jon’s encounter with Mike Crew, the tiny sound he’d made when - “You didn’t fall  _ from  _ anything.”

Jon goes limp and loose again, hiding his face in Martin’s jumper. It doesn’t muffle the sound of his sob. “Wh, what happened?”

“You must’ve stood up from your desk too quickly. Looks like you clipped your head pretty hard.” Martin carefully sets the wet towel aside so he can hold Jon more firmly.

“Oh. That’s - that’s right. I’m in… my office?”

Martin hums in affirmation. “Christ, you really scared me, Jon.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon looks up to meet Martin’s gaze mournfully. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Sh, I know, Jon, please don’t apologize.” 

“I, I wanted to make tea,” Jon goes on, shutting his eyes again. “I was so tired and - I thought the caffeine might help, but I was so dizzy - ”

“Hey, hey,” Martin interrupts. “Just breathe for me, okay?”

Jon’s throat works as if he’s swallowing down the rest of his sentence. His lips form the word  _ okay,  _ but there is no sound. 

“I’ve got you,” Martin says again because he doesn’t know what else to say, because he wants Jon to believe it, because he wants it to be true. 

Jon nods and presses his face back into Martin’s jumper.

“There you go,” Martin whispers. “There.”

Later, he’ll help Jon stand and sip from the half-emptied water bottle. He’ll convince Jon to lie on the cot in the other room so he can rest uninterrupted. Jon will stare at the floor, bashful, and ask Martin to stay with him, and Martin will say yes, of course, always. 

For now, at least, it’s a relief to watch him sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can check out my bingo card on [tumblr](https://theyrejustboys.tumblr.com/post/636979299435560960/i-got-my-card-from-bad-things-happen-bingo-i-want) and send me an ask if there’s a prompt you want to see!


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